


Dying

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can you relate, can you keep up the pace like you're dying for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/gifts).



“Fuck you, look at me.”

It had been three weeks since they'd lost Amy. Three weeks since either of them had said anything to the other. Three weeks since they'd seen another living being.

The TARDIS might have counted as a living being, Rory thought, feeling somewhat guilty for his foul mood. It wasn't her fault, and yet he was starting to think of the old girl - she'd started her the old girl too, he realised, because the Doctor took comfort in the TARDIS so why couldn't he? - as a prison. The Doctor wouldn’t let him leave, or perhaps he’d forgotten about him. Rory hadn’t seen him in these painfully long three weeks, that felt that like three years. He’d come to grips with what had happened, by now. That was why he’d left his room, and the few corridors that he’d taken to wandering around. He and Amy had known that this paradise would kill them one day. He’d just wished that it had taken a little longer, was all.

It had been a dramatic affair all in all. He and the Doctor had been unconscious for two days after they’d held Amy’s funeral, sending all but an urn of her ashes into the vortex that she’d grown to love so much. All three of them had been poisoned and those few ashes were all that they could guarantee of her corpse wouldn’t poison them too. Kill them too. Rory wasn’t sure that she hadn’t killed them though, in a much more heartbreaking, much more painful way. The Master had been involved, and had been adamant that the Doctor wasn’t allowed things, especially happiness. He’d nearly killed them both. It would never have hurt the Doctor. That would have been a hollow victory. Rory hoped that it was.

It took him another few hours to find the Doctor. The TARDIS was less than helpful, apparently determined to still quarantine Rory, who felt right as rain as far as medical things were considered and like a zombie in every other sense. He found him in the shower, just sitting under the water, his fingertips wrinkled like prunes as though he’d been there for hours. Maybe he had; the Doctor’s lips were blue, he was shivering, his eyes were closed and his eyes so red around the edges that Rory knew some of the water running down the man’s eyes was from tears and not just the cold water. He was still in his clothes, the same tweed and suspenders and bowtie ensemble he’d been wearing the day Amy died. The exact same ensemble.

Rory didn’t even think. His eyes flared, his lip curling into a growl that was better fitted on Rory the centurion than it was on Rory the wounded nurse. Yes, they’d both lost a lover, a friend, their everything. But they still had each other and damn it, they’d both forgotten it and looking at the Doctor now, so pitiful and not hanging on like Rory knew he could, he began to think that maybe it was a good thing. He dragged the Time Lord none too gently out of the shower, bumping both their elbows on the way, and dumped him on the floor, where without even giving him time to flail and react Rory pressed a wet, desperate kiss to the Doctor’s mouth and worked on getting him out of his wet clothes.

The Doctor didn’t react, didn’t respond, barely even moved. Rory supposed that wasn’t to be taken as consent but then they had a safeword and the Doctor would use it if he had to. Rory was sure. Rory hoped. Okay, so desperate, angry and broken though he was, he wasn’t about to go any further than undressing the man if he wasn’t going to at least fucking look at him and tell him that nothing was okay but they might as well have frantic pity sex.

The coat came off easily, buttons undone and slipping off the Doctor’s shoulders as Rory forced him to the ground, biting and licking and kissing and starting to cry himself. The shirt he ripped, angry at being denied this chance to see that the Doctor was there and alive and his and hurting just as much. That the Doctor could relate to Rory’s pain. It wasn’t until Rory’s hand slipped past the waistband of the Doctor’s trousers, the man impatient, that the Doctor seemed to move, to wake up, to realise what was going on and ease Rory’s hand gently away, undoing his own belt and taking them off without further preamble. They were both hard, but it wasn’t the same, wasn’t lust or attraction, just need. Rory settled onto the Doctor’s lap as the Doctor pressed his hands at Rory’s chest, the both of them shaking, and failed to meet his eyes.

Rory decided if that was how it was going to be then two could play at that game. Their bodies mashed together, and Rory’s teeth dug into the Doctor’s lips, his fingers leaving bruises and his kindness leaving scars. They couldn’t be better. They wouldn’t be better. They were dying for this little touch, this little bit of something, of nothing at all, and the pace was only going to get worse before it got anything else. It wasn’t much, but Rory was willing to take it. And if the Doctor was willing, he was going to take him.


End file.
